


A walk in the trench

by PresentPerfect



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:05:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9381713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PresentPerfect/pseuds/PresentPerfect
Summary: A short attempt at writing in the Cuthulu mythos all original characters.





	

The air was acidic if such a thing was possible. The land was flat and a uniformed mud brown. Trees, grass, and vegetation anything that might once have been considered living was gone. If one had been there but a year and few months before they would have seen the lush paradise that had once defined the landscape.

Lt. Colonel Jefferson stepped over a dead and rapidly decaying body. The trench was a decent one that much was sure in his mind. Well dug his head comfortably below the surface and guarded against stray rounds that might otherwise find a less cautious officer. Woodwork could be seen every once in awhile that would prove useful to a soldier in the event of an artillery barrage. Jefferson also noted with satisfaction that the trench was clear of rainwater that caused the great pain of a modern army, trench foot. He decided to take note of the particular way they dug out the lines to ensure proper drainage. He wasn’t here for this though, much as he was impressed with the work he saw. Sadly Lt. Colonel Jefferson was on less professional work than that of an upstanding officer. A type of work that embarrassed him to say the least. His work, an affair with the ungodly that would make stout men shuddered and lesser men faint, a work with an eldritch horror more ancient than the earth.

Hidden inside an alcove of the trench a young soldier sat absent mindedly tapping out a repetitive message over and over across the telegram lines.  The message would have meant little and less to his fellow officer and even to even the most of wise men. Only a few of the cursed would know the true depth of meaning to such an accursed amalgamations of sounds. It was this message that brought Jefferson far too close to the front.

The soldier a corporal as denoted by the marks on his shoulder stared blankly at the far wall of the trench. Even when Jefferson and the small squad with him approached, he made no movement or motion to indicate he was aware of their presence. His single out stretched finger simply kept tapping out the same message over and over across the electrical wires.

“Corporal” Jefferson said in a normal voice. The man made no response.

“Corporal!” Jefferson called out again. The call again only answered with a vacant stare and a careful tapping.

“Roberts, Jackson. Get over here the corporal is shell shocked get him treatment.” Jefferson ordered two men in his accompanying squad. Shell shock did not even begin to cover what this man might have witnessed however. As Roberts and Jackson tried to take a hold of the corporal and move him he began to scream and thrash about in a mad fit. He rived in seizure like convulsions as the two men tried to hold him down. Others of the squads moved to restrain the young corporal.

Jefferson moved to a ladder that was near the telegram station and walked up the first few rungs to peer out on the no man’s land beyond. Jefferson was greeted with exactly what he had feared. A queer staff sat standing admits an orgy of blood and carnage. From the distance Jefferson could only barely make it out any detail was lost on him but he knew he would have to walk out to retrieve it. Jefferson walked the rest of the way up the ladder stepping onto soft earth.

“Sir?” One of the soldiers called after him.

“One moment” Jefferson assured him. Jefferson walked out and over carefully arranged bodies. His boots sinking into the mud with each step as he entered the inner circles of the bodies. As he approached the epicenter of the carnage the staff came into more a clear view. The top adorned with a crude metal carving but distinct in its pure depiction of a most unearthly thing. A disgusting figure peered out with cruel eyes humanoid in shape that it might have legs and arms if they could be described as such. On its back wings that had long lost their meaning to evolution or time one could not be sure. Its face obscured by tentacles that almost looked to be in motion writhing about. Jefferson stood at the edge of the final circles thresholds daring not enter the inner ring that the staff stood upright in. Close enough he confirmed what he had come here for and made his way back to the trench. Jefferson pulled a grenade off his belt and pulled this pin with a carefully aimed toss he landed the grenade inside the circle of corpses with the staff and quickly returned to the safety of the trench. With a loud burst of air the grenade exploded and did its work. Jefferson saw that corporal had been subdued and assumingly drugged up on morphine to calm his shattered nerves.

“What was up there sir?” One of his men asked.

“Nothing same shit as any other part of this country. Let’s go mission accomplished.” Jefferson said in a curt voice and stalked through the trench in a hurried fashion. The staff had bothered him but it was the message that had been so carefully tapped out in a language all but forgotten upon the earth. In the roughest of translations it might be read as “In his house of Relayh dead Chthulu waits dreaming”. 


End file.
